Box of Terror 2 (another 4 book horror box set)

by Michael Bray

“What does that mean?”

  “It means that they won’t want to take that risk, and will want you out of the picture.”

  “But I’m safe as long as I stay out of the fields. Right?”

  The old man smiled and shook his head.

  “They’ll send him to do it, and make no mistake, he will.”

  “He wouldn’t do that, even if those things told him to. I have known Dwayne since we were eight years old.”

  “You don’t get it, do you, son? Whoever your friend was before don’t exist anymore. He’s gone. That thing out in the field now serves them. No two ways about it.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  The old man leaned closer, and he whispered the words that Randy was desperate not to hear.

  “You’ll have to kill him before he kills you.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m no murderer, he’s my friend.”

  “No, he isn’t, not anymore. All I can do is advise you. Either will or you won’t mind what I tell ya. But take it from me. He will come for you, and he will do all he can to make sure you die.”

  Randy lowered his head, and despite his desperation to disbelieve the old man, he knew that he was right.

  “I need time, I need to think,” Randy said as he drained his glass.

  “Time is a luxury you don’t have. He will come, and it will be soon.”

  “I can stop him; I can talk him out of it.”

  “You might think so, and I thought so too. But think about this. Even when it was weak, they still made me butcher my pregnant wife and feed her to them. No matter how much you think that your human spirit will be enough, your friend will come and he will try to kill you. That’s not me trying to put the frighteners on you, that’s just the way it is.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “Who knows?” The old man shrugged. It could be minutes, hours or days. But it will be soon. And you need to do whatever it takes to be ready.”

  “Will you help me? If I try to get you out of here, will you help?” Randy blurted, looking the old man in the eye.

  “Ten years ago I would have said yes, but I’m too old, too tired. I can’t help you.”

  “You can’t just watch it happen, please!”

  “I’m sorry.” The old man said as he stood. “I can’t get involved.”

  He walked past Randy, placing a hand on his shoulder as he passed. “Good luck son.” He said, then left the room and headed upstairs.

  Randy looked out of the window at the dancing torch beams and thought about what he would have to do.

  ***

  The night faded to day, and still Dwayne didn’t come. The torch beam stopped shining a little after four am, but Randy was sure that Dwayne was still out there dancing, and it was just the battery that had expired. He had toiled with the actions that he must take, and although morally they went against everything that he stood for, he acknowledged that it was a case of life or death, and he would do whatever it took to get back to the world, and his life.

  By mid-morning, he realised that the waiting was worse, and part of him was eager for Dwayne to make his move so that at least he would be able to reach some resolution.

  The old man had come downstairs briefly, and even then he didn’t speak and barely looked at Randy, pausing just long enough to get some food and head back upstairs. Randy heard the old man lock his bedroom door, and once again he was alone. He stepped outside and looked around at the never-ending landscape of scarecrows. He knew well enough that they surrounded the house, and that Dwayne could be anywhere, watching him whilst remaining completely unseen himself. Randy held his breath and listened, but he could hear only the pleasant chatter of birds and the drone of bees as they explored the crops. Morning drifted into afternoon, and still there was no sign of Dwayne. The day had been hot and dry, and Randy wondered just how his friend was lasting without food or water, then realised that he was probably receiving both from the earth, assuming he was still eating it.

  Randy cupped his hands over his eyes, and surveyed the landscape, and was just starting to think that it would be after dark now before he came when he saw him. Just his head at first as he pushed his way through the scarecrows. Randy tensed, and his heart rate increased. Despite the hours psyching himself up, he found that he was rooted to the spot, and unable to move from the doorstep.

  Dwayne marched towards the house. He was fully dressed, apart from his feet which were bare. His hands and mouth were streaked with dirt, and his eyes stared blankly as he approached.

  This is it.

  Randy thought to himself as he prepared for the coming confrontation. Dwayne marched to within ten feet of Randy and then stopped. The two friends faced off, Randy was trying as best he could to hide his fear. Dwayne stared and twitched.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Randy pleaded, his voice sounding incredibly loud in the stillness of the day.

  “Death is the only way, they said I have to.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t have to listen to them.”

  “If I don’t, they say you will try to hurt me. I have to do it first.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you Dwayne; I’ll do anything not to have to.”

  “I’m not here for you; I’m here for the old man.”

  Randy blinked, at the unexpected turn of events.

  “He said they were letting him go, and that it’s me they want dead.”

  “I convinced them.” Dwayne said as he smiled, his teeth covered in dirt. “I said you were better alive, that you would come around eventually and help me.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Help to grow them, to help them spread. Samsonite is too old, but we are young and strong. I convinced them to let you live.”

  “But the old man has to die?”

  Dwayne nodded. “That’s how it has to be.”

  “We aren’t murderers,” Randy said, “we don’t need to do this.”

  “This is bigger than us Randy, you don’t understand yet, but it is. I’ll tell you, fill you in, but first we have to finish the old man. He’s a threat to us. He will kill us if we don’t kill him.”

  “He won’t,” Randy said, shaking his head. “He’s frightened. He just wants peace.”

  “And what better peace is there than death?” Dwayne said, emitting a sharp bray of laughter.

  “I can’t let you in here. I won’t let you kill him.”

  Dwayne shook his head, a look of genuine sadness on his face.

  “Don’t make me hurt you. I don’t want to. Trust me.”

  “Like I did about the plan to escape?” Randy said, setting himself in the doorframe of the house.

  “You don’t understand, this way is better. Just let me finish the old man, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Dwayne took a step, and in one fluid motion, Randy picked up the shotgun from inside the door and aimed it at his friend.

  “Don’t you fucking move,” He screamed.

  Dwayne smiled and put his hands up slowly. Randy noted that he looked unconcerned and that his eyes were filled with that deep, dark something that until that day had only been seen in glimpses.

  “You won’t kill me, Randy. We both know it.”

  “I don’t want to, but I will if I have to.”

  Dwayne took a single step. “No, you won’t. You aren’t a killer. You’re not disturbed like me. You are the good guy, the one who everyone likes. You aren’t a loner.”

  “Not one more step Dwayne, I’m warning you.”

  Dwayne smiled and took another step closer. There was now less than eight feet between them.

  “You pull a gun on me to protect some old fuck we don’t even know?”

  “You don’t get to choose who lives or dies, and neither do they,” Randy said, nodding towards the scarecrows.

  “You don’t understand, I really do think you would see things differently. All you see is what’s on the surface, but those scarecrows, their roots run deep, and they gro
w and spread in ways you can’t imagine. Now I’m coming through, and I’m going to kill the old man, then we can talk, okay?”

  “Don’t do it, please,” Randy said, his hands shaking as he kept the weapon focussed on Dwayne.

  “I have to, they told me.”

  “I’m telling you not to, please Dwayne.”

  “I have no choice.”

  He walked towards Randy, unafraid.

  “Stop, please!”

  He fired.

  The sound rolled across the fields, and at such short distance, Dwayne was launched through the air, coming to rest on his back in the cabbage field. Hit in the stomach, his intestines pooled around the hole in his white T-Shirt. Randy dropped the weapon and ran to his friend, kneeling next to him in the dirt. His stomach was a mess, his insides now on the outside, the smell of hot blood mingled with the smell of vegetables and flowers. Randy held his friend’s hand, sickened and surprised that he was still alive.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to...” Randy sobbed.

  Dwayne looked at his friend with glassy eyes and somehow managed a smile.

  “You... you... I…” He said through chattering teeth, and the sight of his friend in such a sorry state made Randy’s guilt worse.

  “Why did you make me do it? Why didn’t you stop?” Randy sobbed, and as he watched, Dwayne smiled. He swallowed, and managed to spit out the words that he was so desperately trying to say.

  “St...sto… sto…”

  He was silenced as another roar of the shotgun sheared away the top of his skull, and punched a great explosion of dirt into the air.

  Randy flinched and whirled around, staring at the old man, who stood behind him, the gun smoking from the barrel as Samsonite turned the weapon on Randy.

  “You didn’t need to do that!” Randy spat through his tears. “He was gonna die anyway. Why did you have to do that?”

  The old man smiled, and then licked his lips.

  “He tried to take them away from me, and I didn’t want that. Nobody can take them from me, not him, not you.”

  “I don’t want to take anything; I just want to go home.”

  “You say that now, but you’re young and strong, and they will get to you like they got to him.”

  “Are you crazy old man? I just saved your life.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I love them, I can’t live without them, and I won’t let you take them from me.”

  Randy realised then what had happened, and glanced to the ravaged remains of his friend, then back to the old man.

  “That’s why he was coming to kill you, wasn’t it?” Randy said, smiling at his own stupidity. “You knew they wouldn’t let you die in peace, you knew they would want you dead.”

  “Course I did, you dumb little shit.”

  “They had sent him to kill you, not me, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah, I suppose they did.”

  Randy shook his head in disbelief. “All that stuff you said last night, it was all bullshit wasn’t it Mr. Samsonite?”

  “Don’t get all preachy to me, you little asshole! You came here, trespassing on my land then took away my scarecrows, my friends,” The old man raged. “Well even if they think I’m too old, I don’t think I am. I have looked after them, devoted my life to them. It won’t be easy, but I’ll learn to forgive them for trying to replace me.”

  “Mr. Samsonite, please.”

  “I’m sorry son, but this is the only way to make sure I still have a purpose.”

  Randy knew then what Dwayne had been trying to say as he lay dying in the dirt.

  Stockholm Syndrome.

  The old man had it, and who could be surprised after so long alone with whatever power lived in the dirt here. Randy closed his eyes and hoped that it wouldn’t hurt when it came.

  Samsonite took a single step and fired.

  IMPLANTS

  September 17 th, 2024

  Day 2,306 of isolation

  I always used to think the world was too small until I was the only one left in it. It’s the little things I miss. The things you would normally never even think about. The steady drone of traffic, the subtle chatter of birds. Anything to break this silence, this godforsaken silence which is so heavy I swear I can feel it pushing against me. I’ll never forget the day it ended. One minute the world was alive with noise, and then it was quiet. Now I’m the only one left.

  As I tell my story, you will appreciate the irony of that last sentence. I write this now from the White House. Yes, that one. Don’t get me confused with someone important, though. I’m nobody, a regular guy who said yes to something I should have said no to and am now paying the price for. It’s funny, because, in a world where people used to rush around to get from A to B, time works differently now. It’s excruciatingly slow. Minutes feel like hours, Hours like weeks, and week’s years. Hell, maybe that’s how it is. Maybe I’ve roamed this ball of dirt for centuries without realising. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. As I was saying, I write this from the oval office of the white House. I just walked right in. Across the south lawn, through the door, past the decaying bodies of secret service agents and pen pushing officials. The sight and smell of the dead don’t bother me anymore. If you see enough of something, you quickly desensitise to it. I half wondered if the president might be in here when I arrived, dead eyes staring at the door, skin like old leather hanging from white bones, politicians skeleton grin waiting to greet me. Alas, I was wrong. As with everywhere, there was just dust and silence and the smell of death which I don’t think will ever go away.

  I lean back and put my feet up on the desk, wondering what my father would think if he could see me now. His son, Alec Greenborough living it up in the President’s home. Then I remember he’s one of the lucky ones. He’s already dead.

  So, I imagine you asking yourself as you read my left handed scrawl, what is Alec Greenborough, son of a baker from Seattle doing living it up in the White House? Well, the answer, as I referenced earlier is simple and ironic.

  I’m only here because I screwed up killing myself.

  Didn’t expect that did you?

  It all started when back in the spring of 2018, Microsoft and Virgin decided to pool together their vast amounts of resources in advancing medical technology – primarily in the field of helping amputees to live full lives again. After the short world war of 2015 in which the British and Americans bombed the shit out of the Russians for bullying their neighbours, as well as the increased unrest in Syria and Iraq meant that the VIRSOFT merger was a P.R dream. Within a year, they had developed artificial limbs that could feel sensation, giving disabled war heroes a chance to live normal lives. The much vaunted Google glasses were repackaged and redeveloped into an actual artificial eyeball which gave the blind sight. They also developed artificial ear drums which let the deaf hear. It was seen in the public as a miracle. By 2021, it wasn’t uncommon to see people comprised of equal parts machine and organic tissue. VIRSOFT was the name on everyone’s lips. This, my friends, is where I come in.

  My story doesn’t begin is such lofty locales as my current position, but in a motel on a rainy Sunday night just outside of Portland. The gun had been in the glove box of my old Chevy for at least six years – bought as protection for my wife if she were out driving late at night. You can never be too careful after all. Who would have thought that it would be her who drove me to turn it on myself?

  She tried to blame me of course, saying I pushed her into the arms of my best friend, a slippery piece of shit called Garfield. Unlike the lasagne loving cat of the same name, The Garfield in this story was a womanising alcoholic with a mean streak that meant you would always tread on eggshells around him. He was one of those guys who wouldn’t immediately get his revenge if you wronged him but wait as long as it took to really make sure he got you good.

  Anyway, it seemed I must have wronged my own buddy pretty badly for him to turn his attention to my wife. The worse was t
hat I’d confided in him, telling him how we were drifting apart. He must have seen it as the perfect chance to worm his way into her bed. When I found them, she screamed at me and said it was my fault. Garfield just sat there in our bed, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  Anyone who has ever been cheated on by a partner will know the absolute heart wrenching agony of losing someone who had been such a huge part of your life. There is no way to replace the broken trust, and no matter how hard you try, you can never put things right. She was my world, and with the certainty she would no longer be in it, killing myself seemed like the most logical thing to do. I’ll admit, the reasons were driven my self-pity, and if I’m perfectly honest revenge. I wanted her to feel guilt, I wanted her to suffer for the rest of her life for what she’d done to me. Let me tell you, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t wish I’d have made a better job of my suicide attempt. I remember sitting there, vision blurred by tears, feeling like the most worthless son of a bitch in the world. I’m sure that if I’d have put the gun under my chin and pulled the trigger, I wouldn’t be sitting here now and writing this. However, I’d seen one too many movies, and so put the barrel in my mouth instead.

  That made it real. The taste of oil in my mouth, the cold steel against my teeth. I tried to conjure up a vision of my wife, but could only see Garfield’s stupid grin. I wasn’t sure I would be able to go through with it and pull the trigger, but I guess I must have. There was a roar of sound and them blackness.

  No white light.

  No rose garden filled with dead relatives to greet me.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed looking up at a chubby, bearded face I didn’t recognise. I did, however, recognise the red and black VIRSOFT logo on his white doctor’s coat, though, and started to suspect what had happened.

  II

  The bearded man was a doctor. His name was Benedict. He tried to come across as over friendly, and I didn’t like that. He also smelled odd. There was a faint odour of stale sweat under the powerful cologne he wore. I’d hoped to see my wife waiting by my bedside full of apology, but I guess she either didn’t care or was too busy letting Garfield screw her brains out. Either way, I doubt she’d have got a look in any way, because Benedict hardly stopped talking at me from the moment I woke up.